


The Butterflies that Haunt her Days

by NellieWolf123



Category: Switched at Birth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Sign Language, Español | Spanish, Genius Bay, Multilingual Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-02-27 11:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13247751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellieWolf123/pseuds/NellieWolf123
Summary: Butterflies. Frantic, little butterfly pumps of blood. Breath, an unreachable goal. An alternate universe story in which Bay grows up to be anxious, introspective, and intelligent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A.N-All exchange of information made in American Sign Language will be in italics, and is also in the language's syntax, so it might seem confusing at first.
> 
> Spanish will be used throughout. It isn't my strongest foreign language, so if you notice a mistake please tell me so.

Butterflies. Frantic, little butterfly pumps of blood. The muscle, the instrument—her heart. Blood surged through veins, desperate to supply every cell with needed oxygen.

Breath. Breath was necessary, breath was required, yet not always easy to partake in.

Sometimes, when John Kennish would raise his voice, the butterfly would resurge, breathing became difficult, and life was frightening. He was an unpredictable sort of man, the kind who could just as easily berate as he could hug. John did his best to live up to his legacy, his importance, but very often failed.

Bay didn't like unpredictable things, anxious sweat coating her body at every possibility.

She didn't begrudge him for it; the pain and worry that he inspired every day. The girl could see how hard he tried most of the time. How easily the anger broke through, how easily he caused the butterfly breaths, the rabbit heart beats. It wasn't his fault, really, it wasn't; she just wasn't strong enough.

The pressure was high, too high, all the time. The chance of disappointing the legacy of John Kennish, famous third-baseman, had struck fear into Bay's heart since she'd passed the age of three. Because of this she went out of her way to be the perfect child. There was no tantrums, no Christmas lists a mile long, no wrecking of the brother's stuff. She was a quiet kid, too quiet. At one point the Kennishes went and had her intelligence tested, fearing she was mentally handicapped.

It had started out for that reason, driving her father's angry eyes away, giving them no chance to appear. Bay devoured books by the handful, knowing that they were the key to a treasure trove of knowledge. Intelligence was the thing most tested in children, book smarts the way to advancement.

But then, surprisingly, it began it bring joy. To know things that people didn't gave her purpose, it gave power where her home life was severely lacking.

If she always got the highest grades in class, if she always followed the rules, people would have to respect her. Shrinking down and making herself invisible to punishment was the goal, yet also to make a mark. To be better than others.

"How was your day today?" Asked John absently, scanning the sports articles, the television blaring his usual after supper routine.

"We did blood tests in Biology." Answered Bay flatly, looking up from her dusty, large book over the Iran-Iraq conflict.

Every school day the same thing would happen. Suppertime would inspire talk about Dad's work, Toby would monologue about something nobody cared about, and then Kathryn would inform them of any new neighborhood gossip. The teenage girl always stayed silent. She never really felt the urge to add anything to the conversation, her interests were too different from "normal" people's. She knew they didn't really care.

Bay was in her favorite reading spot, the end table in the corner beside the TV. She was always stuffing herself into dark corners, feeling safe in small spaces.

"You should be proud, O positive is the universal blood type." Said Mom, smiling as she handed a bowl of popcorn to John and sat down.

Bay furrowed her eyebrows "But it said I was AB."

Kathryn leaned forward, wide, watchful eyes on her daughter. John gave Bay a glance, "That can't be right." He then waved his hand, dismissing the subject.

Scooching out from her reading spot, Bay ransacked her bag and handed over the test to her parents. Their eyebrows pulled down, both sitting back with a pensive expression.

John gave it back to her with a shrug "Sweetie, you might want to take it again; there's no way that's correct."

"Your father and I are both O's." Kathryn piped up.

Nodding, Bay stored the information in her mind. The next day, she walked to the hospital after school. It wasn't very far, only 2 miles.

It was easy to donate blood, Bay found. All that was required was taking a test to prove you didn't have a disease.

It was the simplest (and cheapest) way to learn her true blood type. Bothering Mom and Dad wasn't an option. They wouldn't say no, of course, but that didn't mean she wanted to be a burden.

"Hi, I'd like to donate blood?"

The nurse nodded, looking grim and overworked, handing Bay a couple of forms to sign. Another nurse came out ten minutes later, appearing to be younger and kinder, and led the fifteen-year-old girl to the "blood-sucking room."

It was actually relatively friendly-looking, with blue and white walls—newly painted—and colourful murals around every corner. The nice nurse took a bit of Bay's blood, went and got it tested, and was back within half an hour. Pain didn't bother Bay, not after she'd read about the nervous system in grade 4. It was a necessary indication of sickness.

Bay gave a pint of blood that day.

It was worth it. Her blood was AB and her body completely healthy. She took the test result home; however, getting the courage to show her parents was another story.

There were two probable possibilities. Number One-she was adopted. They were just avoiding the truth because they didn't how she'd react. She understood the reasoning. The love was all there, but the girl wouldn't throw a fit, wouldn't scream or yell. They had to know that that.

Behind the second door, the one Bay was most reluctant to open-Mom had cheated on Dad. That was the easiest explanation for their behavior. Kathryn was acting because she didn't want John to know.

While most probable, Bay hoped desperately for the second possibility to be false.

It took a week before she got up the courage. Seven supper times she spent opening and closing her mouth like a fish, always being interrupted or chickening out. On the eight night, she finally overcame her fear, slamming down the paper when dinner neared its end, placing it right in front of her father.

Swift as a teenage girl could be, Bay thundered up the stairs to her room, diving into her room with skill enough to be an Olympian. She then barricaded the door with every piece of furniture she had the ability to lift.

Loud discussion could be heard from downstairs, the lower tones caught if Bay really strained her ears. Kathryn's voice started calm and sweet, but got scratchier and louder as time went on. Her father boomed every word he spoke, attempting to overpower the only way he knew how.

Louder and louder it became, one clear line spoken-"How dare you!"

Dining chairs scraped back.

This all passed within 15 minutes. 15 minutes of anxious nerves, twiddling of thumbs, and a low attention span. Bay tried to read her book, one she had great interest in, but to no avail. She ended up just hiding in her closet, huddled up in her favorite afghan and hugging her stuffed bear. For those 15 minutes the butterfly breaths made their appearance, and when her father and mother finally knocked on the door, it just got worse.

The Cadiz expedition aroused Philip of Spain to action. For some years he had been contemplating another attack upon England. In the autumn of 1596 with what for him was amazing celerity, he organized, equipped and dispatched a second armada.(1)

Her mind voice spoke the lines to her, word for word, calming the trembling hands and speedy heart. She was still anxious, but no longer on the verge of a panic attack. Reciting history books was her panacea.

A crash sounded-the big pile of furniture was broken through-Bay cursed her very poor barricading skills.

"Honey? Can we talk to you?" Kathryn rolled the closet door back, Bay's eyes dilating at the light. The parents were standing awkwardly close to each other, with stiff, angry bodies. When Kathryn and John shared a glance, the wrath sparked a twitch in facial expression, barely visible to the naked eye.

Giving Bay a hand up, Kathryn escorted her to the bed. Each parent sitting beside the teenage girl. The redheaded woman grabbed Bay's hand, holding it in both of hers and giving a large, fake, reassuring smile. "Sweetie, we've phoned the hospital and booked us all in for more tests."

An eyebrow went up, "Why would they need to test it again?"

Kathryn tucked a lock of the brunette's hair behind her ear, pulling the girl forwards and laying a kiss on her forehead. John piped up, "Everything's going to be fine, sweetie. We'll get this all figured out."

Apparently Bay wasn't old enough for her parents to give her a straight answer. But she trusted them, enough. Enough to wait for the three weeks of tests and "making sure."

The time that passed was long and dragging. Kathryn and John had a strange, angry tension between them, nasty hidden barbs in each sentence they spoke. They weren't loving or kind toward each other, only civil when the kids were present.

It was frightening.

Bay spent more time than ever outside of the house, picking up extra shifts at Tormento de Fuego, the Spanish restaurant she worked at in town. She couldn't bear to be around her father, not when he was mean. Confrontation hurt her, making the little brunette feel sick, faint and angry.

Toby always scoffed at her job, but Bay loved it. She adored using her money for whatever she wanted. The girl didn't have many things she bought, being to type to use her minimalistic items until they really couldn't function property.

Bay was practical, and her father might not always be rich, or willing to pay for her. So she stored 75% away of each paycheck, a perfect miser, to be ready for any disaster.

"Necesito una quesadilla, un emparedado de jamón, y una salada mexicana." Bay yelled loudly in low-accented Spanish to Peter, the cook. The entire (small) staff of Tormento de Fuego was required to speak Spanish in order to work there. It was one of the reasons Bay had chosen this job. A chance to actually use her foreign languages was something to be jumped at. Studying such subjects was one of her many hobbies, and practical use was one of the easiest ways to begin perfecting.

A middle-aged, dark-haired woman and her red-haired daughter were seated in the left side of the restaurant, Bay's section, so she plastered on a smile on headed over to them. The woman's name was Regina, she knew, and the daughter was Daphne.

"Bienvenido a Tormento de Fuego, que quieren ustedes hoy?" She said, signing swiftly along with her Spanish.

"Yo quiero una sopa de maíz." Regina answered, handing over the menu.

Same, Daphne signed, the gesture for "like" pointing at both herself and the person she was agreeing with.

"Okay, y estas todos?"

Both nodded, so Bay took her leave.

Phone call said what? Daphne asked her mother. Just two hours earlier the telephone had rung, and after going white as a sheet, Regina had told Daphne they were eating out.

Phone call was... Hospital you born were? Daphne nodded, indictating she knew the subject. They mistaken.

The mother's face was screwed up in anxiety, sweaty hands clasped together. Her daughter's face was clouded in confusion, carefully watching the scene before her. Mistake how?

Another girl and you, switched at birth. Regina covered Daphne's hand with hers. I will love you, always, no matter about this. You my baby.

Daphne's eyes were wide and unbelieving, her colour gone and as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. She nodded, slowly, towards her mother.

Regina continued, your birth family want you see.

Nodding again, the redhead slowly stood up, walking over to the other booth seat, and embraced her mother. Tears ran down both their cheeks, scared, anxious, and confused.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N-All exchange of information made in American Sign Language will be in italics, and is also in the language's syntax, so it might seem confusing at first.**

**At certain points people will be both signing and speaking. Their lines will be written in standard English, with quotation marks, and be italicized.**

**Spanish will be used throughout. It isn't my strongest foreign language, so if you notice a mistake please tell me so.**

**Honestly I have no idea where this story is going. I have absolutely no ideas for plot, and my main focus will be turning to original works very soon. I'm sorry for all y'all that be wanting more, but that doesn't look like it's gonna happen.**

Bay doesn't like this kind of silence. The angry tension ties her family together, the binding ropes burning every place they touch. Katherine is furious that John believed her an adulterous, John too ashamed to admit he made a mistake. They don't care about her; they don't have the time or energy to focus on something as little as the intense confusion, the sadness.

Bay Kennish has a biological mother, and the one thing she knows is the woman's name is Vasquez, Regina Vasquez.

What a lovely name! It rings of a hispanic feel. Imagine if Miss. Vasquez speaks a second language? What fun would that be!

Concerned, the teen debates the probable cons.

What if she doesn't want me? If she starts the butterflies? If Daphne— _the real daughter_ —does.

Bay's word count is at an all-time low. Little murmurings and grunts are the best she can give. Her parents give their best reassuring words, but they don't  _ask_.

The meeting, the dreaded—most likely explosive—meeting, is to be this afternoon. Bay sits in school, still as a stone statue, ignoring any attempts at communication.

"Miss Kennish! Miss Kennish, I am speaking to you."

Brown eyes flicker up to meet indignant ones. Bay can't force a word out, her throat choked with the scratches  _those ropes_  have made.

Time drags by, the sound bleeded from the picture. The teacher continues to rant furiously, trying to get a response, until she finally points to the door.

"... office, now!"

Bay squashes her English assignment into her backpack, beginning the emotionless walk towards the office of Principal Munroe.

The stern secretary takes one look at Bay, pointing to a plastic chair. Seating herself, the girl stares at the wall, time flying by in the midst of philosophical wonderings.

"You may go in now."

Mrs. Munroe is a no nonsense person. She knows that Bay is an intelligent girl that never misses class, back talks, or even talk talks. Her office is bare of all but two pictures, not even a plastic plant for sprucing purposes.

"Now." She bangs some paper against the desk, adept fingers findings its home in the filing cabinet. "Miss. Hale seems to think your having a spout of teenage rebellion. What's your spiel?"

Bay stares at her feet. Her throat is clogged, a miserable brass pipe stuck up with emotion. This isn't something you can  _explain_. Not to Mrs. Munroe, not to anyone.

"Well, I guess I'm calling your parents."

Mrs. Munroe picks up the phone. Everything seems to fall into slow-motion. The clock ticks and tocks, clicks and clops, Bay's chair squeaks back.

"I was switched at birth."

A raised eyebrow, Mrs. Munroe gestures for the girl to reseat herself, the phone clicking back into place.

Mrs. Munroe doesn't end up calling Bay's "parents." She merely stares at the girl for a good five minutes, and then lets her go. In her past life the principal must've been a ninja, because her lie detector is on point.

Mrs. Munroe always knows.

Bay struggles through her last classes, thanking whatever gods there were that she wasn't called on again. Tomorrow it will be different. Everyone will know, and the look of pity and curiosity will have lit their eyes.

Her Mary Janes clip and clop along the pavement, ponytail swishing back and forth, expression screwed up into deep thought. She doesn't usually ride with Toby - his driving leaves much to be desired. But today especially, Bay wanted to have some time to think. It's a free afternoon. John and Katherine made sure she wasn't working.

Today is the day they meet their real child.

Bay thinks, in a stubborn, immature way, that if she walks slower that perhaps it won't occur, that is never happened at all, and she can go back to reading books in her closet. On the verge of sounding like Mrs. Bennet, her parents' silent fighting offends Bay's poor nerves. Her hands shake, feet stumble, lips becomes heavily bitten.

The girl stands before the Kennish mansion, about to fall over the precipice. Tchaikovsky's Marche Slave is playing in her ears, aptly fitting to the situation.

Come on Bay, get a grip.

So she steels her expression, pushes her shoulders back, and enters into the house to a moment that will change everything.

Daphne and Regina. Bay can't believe she didn't put it together sooner. The women had never said their names at the restaurant, but they went there often.

The Vasquez family sits on one couch, the Kennish's on another. Both look up at Bay's entrance.

"Bay! We were so worried!" John gives his daughter a hug. Bay can't help but think he's doing it merely for appearance's sake.

"I walked home, just like always." Said the mouse. "Hola, soy Bay, tu hija… tambien." Bay shakes her biological mother's hand, her teenage body awkwardly positioned.

"Si, tú trabaja en el restaurante, no?"

"Si,  _hello, I Bay, your sister_." Bay hesitates over the word sister, but Daphne smiles anyway.

 _Nice meet-you_.

Bay turns and sits on the Kennish couch, her family's faces struck in disbelief.

"I didn't realize you spoke Spanish, or Sign Language, Bay." Says Katherine, offended.

" _It's not a big deal_."

"Honey, how did you manage to learn two foreign languages without telling us?"

" _Can we please talk about this later? We have company_."

"So what do you do, Regina?" Asks Katherine.

"I'm a hairdresser." Regina answers, smiling, voice flat. Regina must have been very beautiful in her time, and she still is. Her brown eyes still sparkle with life, her posture is still strong and straight, her body still toned with muscle. Wrinkles line her face, the faults intersecting, each with a story to tell, an emotion or situation that lasted through time—pain, happiness, love. She frowning now, at the way John and Katherine treat Daphne, or herself, Bay isn't sure.

"Bay? Bay?"John puts his hand over hers. She stands, abrupt, all attention going to the movement.

"Stop."

"Honey, what do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you need to stop!" Bay shouts, signing with her words, "I'm so done with all this crap. Stop treating this perfectly nice lady like dirt, stop getting all egotistical about the damn house, and stop blaming each other!

She stomps out, wanting to yell more, much worse things, but holds herself back.

o0o0o0o0o

Daphne's life is completely upside down. It should've been a normal day, catching a ride with Emmett to Carleton, making supper for her mom. Instead it had been a Restaurant Day (capitalization necessary), which meant something horrible had happened and Mom was trying to break the news easily.

She was switched at birth.

It's so crazy, so mind blowing. Not to mention the fact that these parents are rich, like  _rich,_ rich. And they want to  _see_  her.

Daphne worries, what if their interest dissipates? What if they decide to drop her after learning of her "disability?"

She gets sick from the stress of it all, a large rock scraping along the insides of her stomach. Mom tries to help, telling reassurances, informing her that she certainly didn't need to meet them if Daphne didn't want to.

But she does, so they go.

The Kennishes live in a rich, hoity toity part of town, big houses with one inch grass and windows galore. Daphne tries to be happy, but Mom grimaces the whole ride through.

Finally they arrive, the two planting polite smiles on their faces.

 _Remember_.

 _Yes mom, I know._  Daphne signed, grabbing her mother's hand and tugging her up the steps.

Mom presses the doorbell.

A middle-aged woman appears, complexion still beautiful, red hair perfectly crimped, "Hi! Come on in!"

Katherine chats as she led the two to the living room. Daphne can't understand, only watches the bobbing movement of her biological mother's head.

A man stands upon their arrival, his hair greying, face a bit toadlike. "John Kennish," He says, sticking out his hand.

Daphne ignores it, " _It's nice to meet you_."

Katherine's wide eyes fix on the girl, before frantically exchanging looks with her husband.

"I'm deaf," Daphne said, "But I can read lips, so as long as you make sure to face me I should be able to understand." She tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear, wishing desperately that they won't make a big deal about it.

Or worse, say they don't want her.

Katherine snaps back to reality, "Oh, yes, you can sit down." She gestured with her arm, then turned to Regina. "How did this happen?"

Regina's face grew pinched, "She's deaf. It's not a bad word. And she got meningitis when she was three."

Daphne tried to remain polite, "So you have two kids?"

Katherine smiled, yelling, "Yes, Bay and Toby. They should be here any minute now."

"You don't need to shout." Regina admonished, "That doesn't actually help her hearing at all."

The redhead seems to sink into her seat, fuming and embarrassed. Everyone is on edge, frantic eyes flinging about the room. Mr. and Mrs. Kennish sit close to each other, their knees brushing, yet their bodies are too stiff. Their faces are taut, like a bungee rope that never jumps back.

A hand taps on Daphne's knee.

 _Someone here_. Mom says. She's smiling oddly, it's strained.

_OK. Thank you._

A redheaded boy (very obviously related to the Kennishes) struts in, pale face twisting in surprise to see them there. His hair is blondish-red, glimmering in the brightly lit room, his bug eyes scanning the guests.

"Toby, did you forget?" Katherine scolds.

"No. It's all good. I'm Toby." The boy holds his hand out to Regina, then Daphne. He has a firm, confident shake, seeming utterly unphased by the current events.

" _I'm Daphne_."

Toby's eyes go wide, but he takes it all in stride. " _Daphne_?" He tries to copy the sign. Daphne smiles, fixing his hand's shape.

"It's a combination of the letter D and the sign for happy."

Toby grins, "Hello  _Daphne_."

Perhaps this family isn't so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> 1-Quote from The Tudors, history book by Conyers Read.
> 
> Alright, so I know absolutely nothing about the US health system and blood donating. So, let's just pretend all that was accurate? Thx:)
> 
> Also, how do you feel about the characters so far? They will be different from the TV show, as this is AU.


End file.
